


Involuntarily Willing

by Chrisii



Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: 5+1, Angst, Bromance, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Bromance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, In just a few sentences, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-06-22 09:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15579180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrisii/pseuds/Chrisii
Summary: 5 times John Moore was forced to stay at Laszlo's and 1 time he stayed willingly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> BADTHINGSHAPPENBINGO PROMPT: GRABBED BY THE CHIN
> 
> A/N: Chapter 1 takes place between episode 2 and 3 - After John got raped, but before he woke up at Laszlo's. Cyrus was with Stevie because Stevie couldn't have possibly gotten a drugged John home by himself.

"Work with me, Moore. Come on!" Stevie grunted as John stumbled once again and almost took the boy down with him. The man's bare legs were shaking, clearly straining to hold even half of John's weight. At least the somewhat long shirt hid his dick from clear view.

The fog made it difficult to see what lay in the road and Stevie cursed when a bottle found its way under his foot. It broke when he stepped on it, releasing a pungent smell that nauseated Stevie. At least he managed to hold on to his dinner.

Stevie immediately pushed John to the ground, cringing when the man's knee splashed in a mysterious puddle - the smell of urine immediately solved the mystery, but it was overcome by the bitter stench of vomit. A painful dry heave wrecked John's body and Stevie made sure that at least the illustrator wouldn't fall face first into his own vomit.

"John?" Stevie's voice had already deepened, but fear for both himself and the nearly unconscious man in front of him heightened his voice to an unbearable high pitch. At least it seemed to penetrate the fog of John's mind.

"Get away from me!" John pushed him away, a wild (nearly feral) look in his eyes. They looked blown in the dim lighting, the green almost completely swallowed by the black.

"Wait here, John. Don't wander off!"

He couldn't waste time trying to convince John that he was one of the good guys. Stevie left him sitting on the side, partially hidden by the fog and the shadows that danced in the alley as people passed. John would be somewhat safe for a few moments.

Stevie hurried towards the streets to seek out Cyrus, anxiety quickening his stride. The man was nearly invisible - Stevie only managed to distinguish shadow from man because he knew where Cyrus was going to be. For his bulk, Cyrus was surprisingly stealthy. He waved three times, making sure he caught his friend's attention before heading back into the alley.

Despite the fact that many of the alley's occupants were drunkards, he didn't like leaving John alone - He was too defenceless at the moment, easy prey for robbers and even brothel workers. Thankfully, John was where Stevie had left him, and significantly calmer.

Too calm.

Stevie kneeled down next to John, grabbing the man's chin so as to angle John's head towards him. John's eyes were half-open and utterly empty of anything. He seemed to be staring off at something - something so captivating that he was completely motionless as he stared it.

He looked dead.

Stevie jammed his fingers into John's throat, evoking a choked off cough. He didn't care about that. What he cared about was the somewhat steady, if not rapid, beat underneath his digits. He was almost sure that John usually breathed a bit deeper than he was at the moment.

"Stevie?" Cyrus' voice was a welcome comfort and the boy let the man judge the situation for himself. "Oh heaven's sake. Where are his trousers?" Despite his apparent gruffness, Stevie saw the tender way with which Cyrus slapped John in an attempt to rouse him.

John didn't react.

"I don't know. I found him stumbling around like this. There was blood and something else on his leg; I wiped it away." Stevie shrugged, but Cyrus seemed to tense. Neither one of them was an idiot and Stevie's description allowed for a number of ideas of what could have led John to his current state.

"Keep that between us, I'll doubt he'll remember much. Let's get him back to Laszlo, he'll take care of him." Cyrus removed his coat and handed it to Stevie before he effortlessly picked Moore up, stopping only so that Stevie could drape the jacket over John's legs and preserve a tiny bit of his dignity.

They were off again, blending into the shadows until they got to the carriage and hightailed it out of there.

* * *

To say Laszlo was surprised was an understatement.

At first he just stared, dumfounded, as Cyrus carefully lay John on the couch. His tenderness was evident in the way he cradled John's head until it rested on the armrest. Stevie silently grabbed a blanket from the other couch and handed it to Cyrus, who draped it over Moore's bare legs.

"What happened?" Laszlo finally moved, worriedly patting John's cheeks. There was a smudge of red on one cheek that looked horrifically like a bruise, but it was only lipstick.

"I found him in an alley near Paresis Hall. He threw up, then wouldn't react to anything." Stevie shrugged, a jerky movement that belied his nervousness at seeing John so unresponsive.

"Stevie, can you fetch Lucius? He should be able to help - I think he still remembers how to deal with the maladies of the living." Laszlo said, opening a few of the buttons of John's shirt when the sound of his laboured breathing met his ears.

"At this hour?" Despite his objection, Stevie was already inching towards the door.

"I don't think he'll mind." Laszlo murmured as he took the warm washcloth that Cyrus had grabbed and gently dabbed it over John's face. He didn't care much for the lipstick, but he made sure to remove the grime and vomit from John's face and hands.

John's lips moved, forming soundless words at the ministrations, but he didn't seem to be waking up any time soon.

* * *

"This should wake him up." Lucius declared, rubbing harshly over John's chest.

John spluttered as he came to, a hand rising to bat at Lucius' hands. Somewhere along the way it lost direction and swatted at air, landing heavily on John's own stomach. Lucius patted John's cheeks, preventing the other from falling back asleep.

Red-rimmed, seemingly exhausted eyes opened and flickered over the room before settling shakily on Lucius.

"Luc's?" The last few letters were slurred together and nearly indecipherable, but they got the gist of it.

"John. How are you feeling?" Lucius smiled at the bed sofa-ridden man but he didn't see any recognition in Moore's eyes.

"Wha' happen'd? Why can't I move my arms?" Panic was already beginning to bloom in Moore's eyes as he attempted to shift his limbs. The result was definitely not satisfactory.

"You can, you're just clumsy at the moment. Look at me." Lucius grabbed John's chin and Laszlo knew he'd never forget the terror that passed over John's features - What little colour had been in his cheeks was gone in a few seconds, highlighting how gaunt John seemed to be under the candle light. It took the illustrator more than a few seconds to wipe it away even after Lucius released his hold.

The damage was already done. John shifted, attempting to get off the couch, but Lucius barred his attempts by simply sitting next to John's hip, firmly holding the other man down. Cyrus, who had been standing in a corner, moved forward to hold down John's legs. Stevie was nowhere to be seen.

"Let go of me!" John lashed out, attempting to punch the detective holding him down. His coordination was clearly off though as his hand sailed harmlessly through the air once again. That didn't stop him. He buckled, trying to fight off everything and everyone.

Laszlo had never seen such naked rage in Moore. Then again, it wasn't rage. It was frustration, hidden underneath the layers of self-hatred, confusion, and pure adrenaline. A guttural shout echoed off the wall when John realised that he couldn't move an inch, but the realisation only made him fight harder. One of his hands managed to get loose, but Laszlo caught it before John could punch Lucius in the face.

"John, you're at my home. It's okay. It's okay, I won't let anything happen to you." Laszlo gently cupped John's face, making sure that he was not forcing John to look at him or anyone else.

John growled, teeth bared in a snarl that seemed animalistic on his face. He attempted to push them off again but his adrenaline was already crashing and Laszlo watched as the fight in him dwindled into nothing. John's chest heaved in an attempt to catch his breath - horrifyingly evident when he turned on his side and curled up under the blanket. They allowed him, knowing that holding him down would amount to nothing.

"Just breathe, John." Lucius murmured, subtly tracking John's heartbeat through his wrist. John's breaths obediently deepened and slowed and the tension oozed out of his frame as he gradually lost consciousness once again.

* * *

"He was drugged, that's for sure." Lucius stated when he was sure that John was asleep.

"Drugged?" Laszlo repeated, worriedly gazing at his friend. He couldn't help the impulse to draw up the blanket and cover John fully with it.

"It will wear off come next morning but he'll be a bit confused, probably drowsy. I wouldn't exactly trust his judgement in the first few hours. He's already moving, so I think the paralysis is wearing off. We just need to keep him hydrated once he wakes up to help flush it out of his system." Lucius said, brushing back John's hair. He reminded him of Marcus after a night out, except Marcus never flinched back from his touch.

"Do you need a ride back home or do you wish to stay here? I have a spare room." Laszlo offered, still trying to process John's current state.

"I'd like to stay here, just in case something happens to John, if it is not of an inconvenience." Lucius said, scratching the back of his neck.

"Cyrus, escort him up."

Laszlo didn't wait to see if his order was going to be followed. He collapsed on the other armchair and kept an eye on his friend, making sure that he would not disappear from underneath their noses.

John's sleep was fitful at best, non-existent at the worst. His breathing would pick up every now and then, portraying inner fear and panic that Laszlo had not seen in his friend in a long time - He was sure that it wasn't John who was lacking to feel such emotions, but rather his own inability to focus enough attention on his friends and notice when they weren't feeling well. When John's breathing eased, his eyes would roll restlessly underneath their lids, looking upon horrors that Laszlo knew feasted on John's subconscious like hungry crows on a corpse.

He didn't touch John. He had noticed that John -ever so tactile- was now revolted by the idea of someone touching him, especially in his vulnerable state. One didn't have to be an alienist to start drawing up plausible conclusions on what could have happened to evoke such a change.

This nightmare seemed to be going on for too long.

Laszlo sat next to John's hip, reaching out to shake John's shoulder. The man was sweaty and mumbling relentlessly underneath his breath, trapped in a never-ending cycle of terror and helplessness. Despite that, he shot in an almost sitting position the second Laszlo's hand made contact with his shoulder.

A painful expression flickered on his features before he fell back, panting harshly in the quiet room.

"John? It's just a nightmare, you're safe." Laszlo spoke softly, trying to not spook his friend any more.

"Get away from me." The venom in John's voice was a surprise. Laszlo hadn't heard it in quite a few months now, but that didn't matter. John was staring at a point over Laszlo's shoulder, eyes still misty and blown wide.

"John, it's Laszlo."

John seemed to be too deep in his nightmare to acknowledge Laszlo's soft approach, so he grabbed his friend's chin and forcefully, yet gently, turned Moore's face towards him. Moore seemed to blanch at the contact and pull back, so Laszlo let go. It was obvious that contact, especially contact that seemed to restrain movement, was making his friend uncomfortable on many levels.

It was almost as if John was struggling to remain in the present. Laszlo wondered what John could be seeing at the moment - his past? That night?

"Laszlo?" John's voice was hoarse but as tender and inquisitive as always. "Wha's goin' on?" John blinked, a myriad of emotions -too many to register them all-, passing over his face. At least he seemed grounded.

"John!" The exclamation left him involuntarily when John recognised him. "You're going to be okay. Here, drink a bit." Laszlo kept his voice purposefully soft, soothing his friend as he grabbed a glass of water and lifted it to John's lips. John hummed, swallowing a few sips before turning away.

He seemed absolutely exhausted.

"Just rest, I'll be here." Laszlo sat on the other couch again, giving John plenty of space. John seemed to appreciate his actions, but didn't say anything - His tiredness was winning out. John's head lolled to the side as he fell asleep once again, a living victim of whatever demons came out to play in his head.

Laszlo kept on eye on him from the corner of the room.  
He couldn't remove the demons, but he could help tame them.


	2. Chapter 2: Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 2: Second time John was forced to stay at Laszlo's.
> 
> Trope: Nightmares

"You're exhausted, John. Take the spare bedroom, I don't mind." Laszlo's voice dissipated the fog in John's mind and the latter startled before cursing as he smudged the drawing once again.

"I'm fine. I have to finish this for the paper." John murmured in reply, wiping away the smudge and outlining the piano again. The bench looked inviting, even if it was only partially finished.

"When is it due?" Laszlo's voice was closer now and a cup of tea was placed on the table next to the armchair. The sweet smell lulled John and he absent-mindedly took the cup into his hands, relishing the warmth that soaked into his fingers. The digits were nearly frozen solid after the hours he'd spent trying to illustrate the piano.

"Tomorrow night." John replied, the chalk twisting between his fingers as he pondered how to draw a person sitting comfortably on the bench. "Can you go sit on the piano?" His request was met with a bewildered look, but it was granted nonetheless. "Pretend you're playing." The order slipped off his lips without him thinking and he was about to take back his words (he knew that it pained Laszlo to play the piano most days) before the gentle notes started floating in the air, increasing the serenity in the room and honing John's focus.

John fixed his gaze on Laszlo's form, outlining it briefly before he started to work out the details. He knew he wouldn't finish it without sleep. The lines were blending together, making it impossible to focus on the fine details that John knew the newspapers looked for. The chalk slipped from his fingers, leaving a jagged line in a thankfully empty space. John wiped it away quickly.

However, his focus was broken now. He couldn't tune out the lulling notes still being played by the piano, or Laszlo's low humming, or the sweet aroma of the tea -spiked with honey-, that was sitting next to him. The picture swirled and John found it difficult to remember what exactly he had been drawing. It looked like a piano. Was it a piano?

"Come on, John. Let's get you to bed." Kreizler was suddenly in front of him, taking away his kit and beckoning him to another room.

John followed, holding in a groan with every step as his muscles refused to cooperate with his movement. Sitting for more than a few hours would do that to you. The corridors blended into one another, the wood just a huge patch of brownness that was almost irritating to look at.

"Glad you think my walls are irritating, John." Laszlo's voice travelled back, tinted with humour. Was he thinking out loud? "Sit, John." There was a hand on his shoulder pushing him to sit on a bed - it was soft and comfortable and the unmoving position made the room itself still. Yet somehow, the bed still felt shifty.

The hand on his shoulder pulled back his coat, gently peeling it off of his frame. The shirt followed and John automatically tucked his arms around his body. It wasn't cold, but he was feeling a bit chilly and his muscles screamed against the slightest wisp of cold air. The hand moved downwards, opening his trousers and pulling them off of his legs.

John didn't recall lifting his ass off the bed, but someone was definitely lifting him. Not Laszlo; the alienist couldn't even untie his own shoes, let alone lift John's mass off the bed.

"Calm down, John. It's just Cyrus and I." Laszlo's comforting baritone eased John's panic and he relaxed again as Cyrus eased him down onto the bed. He was sure that it was Laszlo that draped the blankets over his frame though. "That better?"

"Headache." John murmured as he turned on his side, trying to find a comfortable position.

He was almost asleep when a cool cloth was draped over his eyes, providing instant relief as the worst of the headache was chased away. A hand brushed through his locks like his grandma used to do when he was young before the bed shifted again as someone stood up.

"Good night, John. I'll be just down the hall."

John didn't even hear the door closing.

* * *

Laszlo wasn't sure what woke him. He blinked up at the ceiling, allowing his eyes to get used to the darkness. Everything was quiet.

Then he heard it.

A thump. From John's room. John slept so much in there that it was his room, not just an extra room. Laszlo rolled out of bed and slipped on a robe, relishing the warmth as the coldness of the corridor penetrated his bones.

The door was the only thing separating Laszlo from his aching friend. He could hear John shifting on the bed from outside, thumping against the wall every now and then. He was about to backtrack and leave John to his own devices when the whimper reached his ear.

He was inside the room before he even thought about it.

John's blanket was twisted around his legs, kicked away by the struggling brunette. Sweat shone, illuminated by the weak candlelight. It was interesting how John's face expressed an even vaster myriad of emotions when asleep.

"John?"

His voice didn't seem to cut through whatever nightmare John was having. In fact, John seemed to be drawn deeper; his agitation and tension crystal clear. Laszlo could see John's vein pop out in his neck.

A whimper escaped him, followed by a keening sound that baffled Laszlo. Even asleep, John was trying to hold back from making too much noise; how often did these nightmares ensue for John to subconsciously seek to be quiet? It was obvious that John wasn't one to seek comfort and cuddles after nightmares; Laszlo would dare say that it was almost normal for the illustrator to have such a night. All of them had seen horrors in their life, more so with their last case.

"John, wake up." He shook John's shoulder, not expecting the violent reaction that he got. John's arm swung up and almost clocked Laszlo had the alienist not moved back at the last second and allowed John's arm to fall back onto the bed.

"John, it's just a dream." He slapped John, wincing momentarily as the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed in the room. John snapped awake, his blue eyes fogged over. They cleared in seconds, but John didn't move. He stared, unblinking, at the ceiling - His chest was still heaving, lungs struggling to draw in enough air. It was almost painful to hear.

John sat up, dragging a hand over his face before he noticed Laszlo at his side. Laszlo only caught the fact that his presence had startled his friend because John's shoulder jerked; the jump contained in the small muscle.

John had injured his hand; he was unconsciously rubbing his wrist. Cramps, maybe?

Neither of them said a word to each other, only waited until John's breathing calmed down and he seemed to gather his bearings. When Laszlo saw John's eyes jump to every corner of the room, he quietly left John to his own musings and closed the door behind him.

He didn't catch the sigh of relief that John released upon his leave or the way that John gulped down the glass of water by his bedside as if he hadn't had a drink in ages.

* * *

John woke up to someone rubbing his dominant hand. It was not Laszlo for sure - the hands were nimble, not calloused. They were a woman's hands. John eased open his eyes, not surprised to see Laszlo's ceiling staring down at him. He had woken up in this room countless times, usually with a hangover.

This time, he felt a bit restored - His headache was gone and the room wasn't flipping on its axes so far.

"Good morning, John." Sara's voice broke through his musings and startled him.

"Sara! What - What are you doing here?" He tried to pull up the blankets that pooled at his waist, but Sara only thwarted his attempts by squeezing his hand harder.

"Laszlo told me that your hand was aching - You really ought to set breaks for yourself when you're drawing; being exhausted will only make your muscles ache more. Since none of them knew how to massage someone's hand and Lucius was not available, I volunteered to be the one to save you from painful cramps in your hands and wrists." Her long explanation, decorated with a reprimanding tone, had John colouring slightly.

"It passes rather quickly, usually." He shrugged, still too comfortable to even sit up.

"Oh please, your fingers were so cramped I had to work on them individually to get your hand to fully open up." She gently laid his hand on the bed again and he flexed his fingers, thankful for her ministrations when only a mild pang of pain followed the motion.

"Where did you learn that?" He inquired as he sat up, brushing the sleep from his eyes. His muscles were still a bit sore, but he could deal with that.

"My father's hand used to cramp a lot after he went hunting. I simply learned to help him. I'll leave you to get dressed." She picked up her skirts and was out of the door before he could even blink. Of course, her father.

There was a note on the bedside table.

_Your kit is in the living room. Come have breakfast.  
-Laszlo_

His drawing kit. The piano. He had to finish that by tonight. But first, breakfast. He needed to have a talk with Laszlo about making him sleep there without even alerting his grandma. He turned the paper over and saw another scribble.

_PS: I phoned your grandmother. She knows you're here._

Of course he had.

* * *

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was quite mild from Laszlo's POV - trying to show his clinical side of things.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this and I'd love to hear your feedback or if you're liking it at all!
> 
> Kudos,  
> Chrisii.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Feverish John

"John, I need you to draw something for me." Laszlo requested while pouring tea for himself and his companions.

"As long as it is not a butchered child." John replied, but his humour seemed a bit too forced, almost as if John would rather be hanging than drawing something.

"And as long as it is not for this week. John needs to rest." Sara said, her authority shining through.

"What happened?" Laszlo frowned as he gazed between Sara and John. True to Sara's word, John looked in desperate need of a rest - He was pale, a bit gaunt, and his hands were shaking. John's hand never shook; it was one of the reasons why he was such a great painter - and one of the reasons why his withdrawal period was so hard on him.

"Besides the fact that John insists he keeps working through a fever? Nothing at all, Doctor. I have no idea how he's still sitting straight." Sara huffed, taking a huge gulp of her tea. She didn't seem to mind its scalding temperature.

"I wouldn't call that sitting straight." Laszlo commented, raising an eyebrow as he nodded in John's direction. The man was slouched in his seat, his head resting on his open palm. To his trained eye, it was blatantly evident that John had a headache - His eyes were closed tightly and he seemed to be making a huge effort to clear his mind. The deep furrows on his brow effortlessly conveyed his failure at such a daunting task.

"I'm fine, Sara. Stop worrying." John's voice graced the dining area; slurred and barely recognisable with its hoarseness. A chest-wrecking cough followed (and contradicted) John's statement.

"I wouldn't call yourself 'fine' John. It's quite hot today, and you're shivering in a long-sleeved shirt." Laszlo pointed out matter-of-factly. John shot him a dirty glare, but the effect was ruined by the haze that was apparent in his eyes.

"His grandmother hasn't seen him yet, or else she would have already tied him to the bed." Sara said as she stood up, her skirts swirling around her feet.

"Let him sleep here so she does not worry. I trust that we can nurse our friend back to health." Laszlo said, draining the last of his tea.

"There's no need to 'nurse' me." John spat, shooting to his feet, "I'm fine." The declaration was horribly belied when John's knees buckled and he almost crashed to the ground.

"Come on, John. Just rest for a while." Sara pulled him from his arm, making him stagger behind her as she led him to the spare room on the first floor - it was John's room by this point. John muttered something but it went unheard as he was pushed to the bed and delicate fingers started to open his buttons.

"Sara-"

Whatever he was going to say was halted by his girlfriend, who shushed him gently before undressing him and leaving him in his underclothes. John seemed to give in to her ministrations, dropping his mask completely as he lied down on the bed.

"Just rest, John. You'll feel better soon." Sara murmured, placing the back of her hand against his cheek. The extraordinary warmth was still there, a bit hotter than before.

"I sent Stevie to get some medicine and Cyrus is bringing up a basin with a washcloth and some water for him." Laszlo stepped inside the room, dropping a blanket on John when the latter shivered minutely before curling on his side.

"I just need to sleep it off, Laszlo." John murmured as he wrapped himself in the blanket.

"Medicine will just hurry the process." Laszlo chided before placing the back of his hand against John's forehead. Both men flinched away from each other at the same time and Laszlo frowned. "He's burning up, Sara," he said at the same time as John growled, baring his teeth as he ordered the doctor to stay away from him. There was no recognition in his eyes.

Cyrus entered at that moment, water sloshing inside the basin that he was carrying. Sara immediately hurried forward, grasping the moist cloth in her hands and wiping down John's face.

"Remove the blanket, Cyrus. Laszlo, turn him on his back." Sara ordered, surprised at the sudden downhill in John's condition. He had been walking and talking up until half an hour ago - how had he gone from that to nearly delirious with fever in just a few moments?

"His body is taking the opportunity to keep him in bed, hence his sudden turn for the worse. He'll be fine as long as he stays in bed and Stevie arrives with the medicine." Laszlo stated calmly.

"Do you have something to help him sleep until he arrives?" Sara nearly shrieked when John jerked upwards again, trying to escape Cyrus' hold and the coldness of the cloth on his skin. It was close to taming a wild animal - but this animal didn't want to be tamed.

Sara immediately felt guilt lick at her heart at having compared John to an animal, but she had never seen him snarl at someone before and his attempts to bite off her fingers when she caressed his cheeks only strengthened her thought. She settled to brushing his hair back, knowing from countless meetings that the action usually soothed him.

"It's normal Sara, it's probable that he neither knows what he is doing nor will he remember it when the fever passes." Laszlo said, using his good hand to hold down one of John's arms.

"Should I get a rope?" Cyrus asked when John suddenly relaxed, sweat evident on every inch of his body. His breath hissed out from between chattering teeth as he calmed and Sara watched silently as he closed his eyes, exhaustion suddenly pouring off of him.

"No, that won't be necessary. Give me the cloth, Sara." Laszlo held out a hand even before he had finished the request. She watched as Laszlo wiped down John's face first, washing away the sweat and providing a meagre amount of relief for the sick man. John remained still as Laszlo moved down to his chest and arms, and it was only when Cyrus had to help them turn John over on his side that Sara noticed that John was passed out or else asleep, finally succumbing to the fever that was hell-bent on making him rest.

* * *

Many hours and more than one force-feeding of medicine later, Sara was reading a book by John's bedside. The latter was asleep - lost in more dreams than Sara could ever imagine. His temperature was still hovering dangerously high and Laszlo had told her that should it not recede in a few hours, then they will have to dump John into a bath and let the cold water take care of their problem.

Sara hoped that it wouldn't come to that, but John was never one to get over sickness gracefully. He rarely got sick, but he got it bad the one time he did. She still remembered his brush with death when a cold had developed into pneumonia - They had been 12 at the time. His father had forced him to wear scarves up until he left John with his grandmother because he was ruining their social image.

"Joseph!" The shout jarred her focus and made her lose her place on the page, but she didn't care about that. The peaceful expression was gone from John's face as he kicked out, dislodging the sheet from around his legs. "Breathe, Joseph!" John didn't shout again, but the keening whimper was even worse to listen to.

"KREIZLER! CYRUS! John, listen to me. Joseph is safe, wake up." Sara shook John's shoulder with one hand, using the other to wipe down his face again. His boiling skin wasn't a surprise, but she was instantly on the alert when she noticed that it was devoid of all sweat. John wasn't even shivering anymore.

"Sara? What happened?" Laszlo appeared at the door, his eyes widening when he saw John's expression; his eyes were wide open but unseeing, hauntingly flitting across the room in a search for a young boy that was not there. However, what truly petrified him was how difficult John seemed to be finding it to breathe; Laszlo could hear his inhales from next to the door.

"Run that tub now." She heard Laszlo's retreating steps but didn't pay him much attention because John had chosen that moment to undoubtedly pass out; Sara would never forget the way his green eyes rolled back into his skull as his hand fell limp in her own.

"Miss Howard, step aside please." Despite the dire circumstances, Cyrus was as polite as ever to her. He gave her time to step away before scooping John into his arms as if he was nothing but a puppet. In his hands, John looked like a broken doll. Something small, easily handled.

She knew that John could fill a room with his presence, but it was hard to imagine that when seeing him so weak. He wasn't even objecting the manhandling. She had never seen his head dangle backwards like that, not even in his deepest slumbers.

Sara pushed back her thoughts as she followed the others into the bathroom, watching silently as Cyrus lowered John into the cold tub. John instantly reacted to the cold water; coming back to life with a huge gasp and a chest-wrecking cough as some of the water sloshed into his mouth and choked him. He attempted to get out of the tub and was stopped by Cyrus, who looked almost regretful to be the one holding him in there as John shivered, shaking like a leaf in the wind as his body struggled to adjust its temperature.

She immediately surged forward and grasped one of John's hands, giving him something to hold on to and ground himself. It seemed to work as John slowly ceased his struggling and blinked owlishly in Sara's direction, a faint sliver of recognition shedding a light into the dulled green. She reached out to caress his cheek, smiling softly when he leaned into her warm fingers.

"Only a little while longer, John." Laszlo's voice broke through the silence and she noticed that he was loosely grasping John's other hand, offering their friend a form of comfort as well.

"'s cold." John stammered, struggling to form words as his teeth attempted to shatter each other.

"On the contrary, Mr. Moore, you're just too warm for your own good." Sara countered with a grin. It was a testimony to his sickness that he did not respond with some joke or the other - he only smiled as he rested his head against the edge of the tub.

She could see the artery jumping in his neck, conveying the gradually calming beat of his heart as he relaxed against the tub, his eyes fluttering closed again.

"John?" Laszlo tapped his cheeks, keeping the man from falling asleep. "Cyrus, sit him on that chair. Sara, may I ask you to leave while we dress him?" Laszlo asked her.

"I shall wait in the bedroom." She nodded, leaning down to leave a chaste kiss on John's cheek before leaving the room.

* * *

John wanted to sleep. He could feel someone towelling him dry, but he didn't have the energy to stop them and take over the task himself. He was sure that it was Laszlo who was holding him up - he could feel the barely there calluses against his bare shoulders. A shiver wrecked through his frame again and John gritted his teeth.

He didn't want other people touching him so much. It wasn't comfortable. Not when haunting recalls of another similar thing were still on the edge of his memory. He still wasn't sure if those were memories or else fragments of some nightmare.

A shirt was dropped on his head and someone guided his arms through the holes before pulling him up from his seated position.

John didn't want to walk, but if that meant getting to bed then he'd run miles.

However, it looked like he didn't have to - the floor was moving by itself. Or else someone was moving him. That seemed more plausible.

Sara was there, tucking a blanket around his cold frame even as she dropped a moist -cold- cloth on his forehead. She was warm, he liked her. He liked it when she brushed his hair back, her fingers scratching at his skull. It made him feel like a cat.

His head ached.

There was something pressing against his lip - a spoon.

"It's water, John. Drink." She wouldn't trick him. He opened his mouth, let the water slip in, and carefully swallowed. It was a welcomed reprieve to his dry throat, but the glass was taken away before he could gulp it down. "You'll have more later." She wouldn't break a promise.

He was still cold, but the blanket was offering some greatly appreciated warmth. He snuggled underneath it and closed his eyes, relishing the comfort that came with resting. He didn't have much time to think before he was asleep.

* * *

He woke up soaked in sweat and sticky to the touch, but at least his headache wasn't there anymore. There was someone wiping his face with a soft cloth but it was taken away when he opened his eyes, blinking blearily to clear the fog from his eyes.

Sara's form swam in front of him, a pleased smile evident on her face. He attempted to greet her, but only a hum made it past his lips. A glass of water was suddenly against his lips, offering him some relief.

"Good morning, John," Sara said as she took the glass away.

"'Morning, Sara." His voice was still husky, but he didn't care about that.

"How are you feeling?" The cloth travelled down his chest, smoothing over his stomach before being taken away once again. Its coolness left a tantalising trail behind and John yearned for a shower.

"I'm fine, but I need a shower. Why are we at Laszlo's?" He suddenly realised why the room seemed smaller than he was used to and why his canvas and organised mess were gone, replaced instead by dark and pristine furniture.

"Because you collapsed two days ago when we were having tea. Yesterday, we put you into a tub to bring your temperature down. Your fever broke a few hours ago."

John blinked, attempting to decipher her words. It wasn't as if they were complicated, but their notion was almost incomprehensible. Had he been unconscious for two days? His grandmother must be going mad with worry - he had never spent a whole day away from home without telling her first.

"More like two nights and one day, if you were to ask me. Also, I took the liberty to call your grandma. Laszlo stopped by to assure her you were just resting here."

Sara shrugged, a coy smile pulling at her lips when he huffed out; "So you basically kidnapped me until my fever passed?"

"I wouldn't call it kidnapping; you came willingly to Laszlo's house. We just kept you here."

"Hostage, then." He sat up and took another sip of water. He held back a groan when the residual weakness in his muscles made itself known, awakening multiple aches as he moved around the room to stretch his limbs and wake up a bit more.

"For your own good. Mary prepared breakfast, go wash and come down." Sara kissed his cheek, offering a gentle caress before she was out the door in a flurry of skirts. John smiled, fingers tentatively brushing against the spot she kissed before he left the room to get ready.

After all, if he remembered correctly, Laszlo needed him to draw something.

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Hope you enjoyed the third installment of this series.  
> As always, any feedback is appreciated.
> 
> Kudos to you,  
> -Chrisii.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Raspy Breathing

It's been a year.  
A year ago, John Moore almost drowned.  
A year ago, his engagement was broken off.  
A year ago, his brother drowned.  
A year ago, John Moore lost all the reasons for his happiness and found all the reasons for his melancholia.

This year, John Schuyler Moore attempts to drown himself again. This time he knows that water won't do the trick. No, this time he'll try something more potent. Something that wouldn't look odd to the public eye. People would stop him if he tied a brick to his ankle and jumped into the ocean, but people wouldn't stop him if they saw him down glass after glass of whisky or scotch.

He inhaled, but didn't exhale. Did his brother feel this burn in his lungs when he was drowning? Had he been hoping for John to jump in and save him? John had jumped after him. He had found him. But he hadn't saved him. It had been too late. He had held his brother in his arms, hoping for a sign of life when there wasn't any.

He exhaled and inhaled, sucking in a lungful of air. His lungs cried in relief - Had his younger brother sought this relief? Probably.

The bottle of whisky was empty. Bottles. There were three in front of him. Or were they four? He waved down the bartender so that he could take another, but someone kept his hand down. He turned, ready to flip off whoever was attempting to pick a fight with him today, and blinked owlishly when he saw Laszlo in front of him.

He hadn't seen Laszlo in months; the alienist was too busy building his Institute for the children. John was glad he wasn't a child anymore; he didn't need help. Especially enforced help.

"Let go, Las." The second syllable of his friend's name was impossible to utter, so John didn't even try. He attempted to wave the bartender down with his other arm and managed. He was about to gloat about his triumph before Laszlo paid the bartender for the empty bottles and bid him a good night. A good night? It was barely four in the afternoon.

"It's nearing 10 in the evening, actually. Come, John." Laszlo draped one of John's arms around his neck and pulled him off the stool.

John wanted to push him away, to stand on his own two feet and be on his own. He hadn't been there to save his brother, he didn't deserve the company of others. He wanted to go drown his sorrows in another bottle of scotch or whisky or wine or anything really, and then stumble to somewhere and numb his mind with some momentary pleasure before trying to find his way home. Or else go to some bench next to the river and just wallow in his pity there. His brother would have come with him if he could. But he couldn't.

The carriage jolted as they went over a rough road. Wait. Carriage? When did he get into a carriage? Was he being kidnapped? No, Laszlo was in front of him, dark eyes boring into his own with a sense of concern and pity. John had no doubt that the doctor was analysing him as he thought.

The carriage was small. He could barely breathe. How was Laszlo so at ease? His features were soft, relaxed. His lame arm lied on his lap, held there by his good arm. He was staring out of the window now, giving John the semblance of privacy. John inhaled again, feeling his lungs convulse as they struggled for enough air. His heart was beating in his ears; he didn't know his heart could leave his chest.

He'd have to ask Laszlo about that.

The carriage was suddenly going faster and there were hands on him, pushing him to lie down on the seat. He didn't exactly fit, so someone turned him on his side and bent his legs until he was fully lying down. The change in altitude almost made him throw up. He swallowed, inhaled. It hurt.

Inhale.  
Exhale.  
In-

His throat tickled and sent him into a full-blown coughing fit. He could feel himself slipping off the seat but someone kept him there, kept him grounded and safe as his lungs attempted to leave his body through his mouth. He could feel tears make their way down his cheeks, soaking into the leather below him, but he didn't focus on those.

Inhale.

Exhale.

His breathing was horrendous to listen to. He could almost hear the rasp as the air grated against his abused throat; apparently, a lot of whiskeys resulted in a sore throat. He just had to sleep it off, he'll wake up fine. He always did. Unlike his brother, he actually woke up. He lived. He just had to sleep.

* * *

"Don't fall asleep, John!" Laszlo tapped John's cheek, trying to keep the man from succumbing to unconsciousness. They were almost there, he just had to at least get his friend to drink some water.

John murmured something but Laszlo didn't understand it. He had been ignoring John's drunken ramblings since they got into the carriage, but he hated that he could not understand him now. He slapped John again, startling the man into near consciousness.

The carriage stopped and Cyrus was there, pulling John's immobile form out of the carriage and to the door. Stevie was already inside, getting the bread and water that Laszlo had requested beforehand. John groaned as he was dropped on a sofa, his head dangling sideways in an undoubtedly uncomfortable angle.

His breathing was ten times more audible in the house than in the carriage and Laszlo couldn't help but grimace as he heard the rasp. He had never seen John so helpless, not even after the many parties that they used to attend John used to force Laszlo to attend back in their Harvard years.

But then again, John's brother had still been alive at the time. He knew that today was his death anniversary, but he hadn't caught John before he was already out, drowning again. This time in alcohol instead of water.

John was absolutely motionless now. Laszlo cupped his friend's head, slightly raising it as he dribbled the water inside John's mouth. John spluttered weakly as the water slid down his throat, but he came to little by little as the glass emptied. Laszlo didn't even have to ask for another glass, Stevie took it from his hands and refilled it in the minute that it took Laszlo to manoeuvre John into a sitting position.

"Laszlo?" Recognition flickered in John's eyes before sorrow continued to darken the green.

"Drink, John." Laszlo ordered in a soft voice, inclining the glass against John's lips again. John swallowed obediently, wincing as his throat screamed out. Kneeling so close to his friend, Laszlo could hear John's breaths. They weren't worse, but they weren't better either.

 "Here, eat a bit."

John seemed to shy away from the food but Laszlo pressed it into his hands, silently enforcing his request. While John ate, Laszlo took the opportunity to remove his friend's blazer and undo a couple of buttons, offering him room to breathe. John didn't comment much, only munched silently on the piece of bread. It disappeared quickly, despite his hesitation.

"It hurts, Laszlo."

It wasn't a physical hurt, Laszlo had already checked him over for injuries. It was a deep hurt; one that Laszlo could not easily fix with a few words and a prescription.

John sounded utterly broken. It wasn't like a mirror; you couldn't piece it back together like a puzzle. John was similar to a puzzle indeed, but this puzzle had parts missing; essential parts that took out some of the colour from the picture, some of the main highlights of the illustration. Someone could draw them again, but the puzzle would never really be as it once was.

Just like John would never really recover from his brother's death and his father's decision to send him off to live with his grandma.

A sob echoed in the living room and Laszlo sat next to his friend, guiding John's head to his shoulder. He wasn't usually this physical with others, but John was pulling at his heartstrings. The tears rolled over John's cheeks, highlighting the nearly feverish flush that had been brought on by the alcohol, and something inside of Laszlo broke as he saw his friend finally give in to his grief without drowning it in a bottle.

He let John cling to him, murmuring sweet nothings without even realising it as John spoke of some memory or the other. His servants had the good mind to close the door behind them, giving the two their privacy as John slowly calmed, his sobs fading into hiccups until he lay limply against Laszlo, tremors still coursing through his frame.

The effort seemed to suck any type of energy that John had and Laszlo gently pushed his friend away and laid him down on the sofa, making sure to cover him with a blanket as John huffed, turning on his side to be more comfortable.

"Just sleep, John. You'll feel better tomorrow."

John nodded weakly, still struggling to inhale fully. The sobbing had made the raspy breathing sound harsher and Laszlo frowned. However, it seemed to ebb away into a slightly more tolerable breathing as John slid into slumber, his features soft and relaxed in his sleep. He looked way too young to be dealing with his problems.

Laszlo remained seated near his friend until he was satisfied with John's breathing, making sure that John wasn't about to die during the night due to some respiratory problem or the other brought on by his drinking, then quietly headed to his own room.

If he could hear a rasp in John's breathing the next morning, he would make sure that his friend saw a doctor.

If not, he would just do his best to stir John away from such heavy drinking in the future days.

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So sorry for the wait; I know it's been a week but I'm a bit too caught up with work at the moment! I am doing my best to edit and post these short pieces but it might be another week before another update. Obv, I'll do my best to update before.
> 
> That being said, hope you enjoyed this little drabble and see you next chap!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trope; Not noticing an injury.

**CHAPTER 5**

"We're sorry to intrude, Laszlo." John huffed, resting his weight against the wall of the hallway after making sure that Sara was okay.

"None sense, John. My door is always open for you. What happened?" Laszlo questioned when he noticed their dishevelled appearances. John couldn't blame his friend's shocked reaction; he and Sara looked as if they had been wearing the same clothes for a week.

"Some group decided to mug us. John kept them back for a while before we ran. If he wasn't there... I would not dare venture into what they would have done." Sara shivered, staring into nothing as she shook off an imaginary hold on her bare shoulders. The mugger's filthy hands had left a red imprint on her fair skin, almost like the possessive mark of a deranged psycho.

John yearned to wipe it away. He didn't have an idea how many muggers there had been - All he knew was that his knuckles were raw and bleeding from the numerous punches he had thrown and that his clothing was ripped in some places, but still hiding a lot of forming bruises. At least none of them had hit his face; he couldn't exactly hide a black eye from his grandmother.

His adrenaline slowly faded, giving place to exhaustion as the stressful events caught up with his body and showcased themselves in several aches and pains. John released a tentative breath as he pushed away from the wall and stood on his own two feet.

"John, are you all right?" Sara was suddenly in front of him, one hand cupping his cheek as the other sought to hold him up.

"You seem a bit pale." Laszlo commented, running critical eyes over his form. John shied away from the scrutiny, but he didn't get far before Sara's hands (and a horrible ache just above his navel) stopped him.

"Do not move, John." She was scared. Terrified. Panicked.

"Sara? What's wrong?" The world was swimming, shifting on its axes in a horrible parody of a boat's motions. It was unsettling. Laszlo's hallway was colder than John ever remembered it being and he shivered, trying to draw the coat tighter around himself.

"John, lie down on the couch. We'll help you." Laszlo was using the same voice he used with shocked patients. John wasn't a patient. Why was he using that voice on him?

"Wha's goin' on?" Why were his words slurring? He hadn't drunk anything, had he? Drugged maybe? He couldn't recall a syringe in the muggers' hands, nor a cloth.

The world tilted sharply, taking the floor right out from underneath John's feet. Sara went down with him and John suddenly realised why his side was aching so much.

There was blood pooling under him. His shirt was soaked with it. It was dripping, one droplet of blood at a time. Except one droplet does not make a puddle. Many droplets do, though.

John felt the world fade away when someone hauled him upwards.

* * *

"He's unconscious." Sara stated as Laszlo helped her stand up. Cyrus grunted, arranging the dead weight in his arms before taking John into the 'spare' room.

"Stevie, go fetch Lucius and tell him I have an emergency." Laszlo ordered, still not letting go of Sara's elbow. She was glad for it; doubted if she'd be able to stay on her feet should he let go of her. "He'll be all right." Laszlo's comment was more for his own sake than hers, but Sara still made herself cling to his hope with all her might.

"We should keep pressure on the wound." Sara suddenly remembered. She shook off Laszlo's grip and headed to the closet in the hallway, pulling out a couple of towels before making her way back to John's side.

John was motionless, one hand dangling off the bed in morbid stillness. John's fingers were never still. He was always drawing, always tapping, always tracing patterns into whichever surface was available. This was abnormality in its prime.

Sara willed her fingers not to shake as she unbuttoned his shirt, pulling the fabric away from the wound. It was still bleeding, albeit sluggishly now. She pressed the towel to the wound and was rewarded by a flinch as John came back around, his head lolling on the pillow before his eyes fluttered open. Dazed green dragged across the room before settling on her face for a few seconds.

"John? Can you hear me?" Laszlo was suddenly in the room, a bowl in his hands.

John hummed, nodding weakly as he struggled to stay awake. His confusion was like a visible aura around him, but Sara preferred to have him confused than panicked.

"I'm going to clean around your wound, okay?" Laszlo sat the basin on the bedside table, squeezing out a lot of the excess water from a cloth before starting to wipe away the blood smear from over John's stomach. "It's warm, so it shouldn't be very uncomfortable. Thankfully, Mary was just about to make some tea." Laszlo rambled, taking John's mind away from his ministrations and forcing him to focus on his words instead.

However, John still inhaled sharply as the cloth passed over the wound, the warm water dribbling inside. The inhale caused him to choke and Sara winced as a guttural groan echoed in the room when a spasm caused John's whole body to jerk.

"Try to stay still, John." She sat down next to him, blocking his view of Laszlo and attempting to hold him down by his shoulders. Given his weak state, it wasn't such a daunting task. "You're wounded, we're trying to help you." She continued, hoping that her familiar drawl would relax him. It seemed to be working - John's fidgeting died down, but it was evident that he was holding back several jerks and moans. His jaw was clenched so tight that Sara was scared he was going to break some of his teeth.

"Are you-" He stopped to suck in a breath in-between gritted teeth and exhale slowly before continuing, "injured?" His concern was a shock, but not much of a surprise in the long run.

"I am fine, John. Focus on yourself." She grabbed one of his hands in her own, her thumb brushing the back of his hand in what she hoped were soothing gestures. A companionable silence fell over the room, broken only by John's grunts as Laszlo thoroughly cleaned the wound - Sara suspected that the basin was filled with diluted alcohol, rather than water.

John remained gazing at the ceiling for most of it, but she caught his gaze whenever he would look at her for a fleeting second. It really didn't take long for his eyes to close, and Sara felt his body relax as he passed out again.

* * *

John didn't stir while Lucius stitched him, but Sara suspected that it was due to the minor dose of painkillers that the latter had injected.

Now, she sat by his bedside -again-, waiting for him to wake up. Lucius had left behind a list of instructions for them to keep the wound clean and safe from infection but had said that in reality John had only been nicked, not stabbed as they initially thought.

"Wake up, John Moore, so I can tell you how much of an idiot you are for failing to tell us you had a knife wound." She scolded the motionless frame, unknowing whether or not John could hear her.

"I was too concerned about your safety," John's lips barely moved, so the reply was barely comprehensible. However, Sara understood him well.

"Well, how can you ensure my safety if you're injured? I'm not a damsel in distress, Mr. Moore." She cupped his head and tipped a glass of water in his mouth, cutting off any reply he was about to make by forcing him to drink.

"I know that." He replied, gingerly probing his gut. The cut was hidden beneath a layer of bandages.

"Be careful. Lucius said that it will ache for the next few days, but you should be fine." Laszlo entered the room, pleasant surprise apparent in his voice when he spoke.

"Laszlo, thanks for letting me stay here." John smiled at his friend as Laszlo squeezed his shoulder; an uncharacteristic show of affection that belied his horror at having seen so much blood on his friend. John remembered very little from the time they had entered the house and now, but he knew for a fact that he had bled a lot; the red colour would remain ingrained in his mind.

"My door is always open for you, John. Do you want lunch?" Laszlo seemed satisfied with John's current state, and John saw Laszlo's walls come up again; the ever-present clinical detachment bleeding into his tone and hiding the affection and worry that brewed in the doctor's eyes.

"I'm famished." John replied, knowing for a fact that the food was a sign of the worry held by his friends and Laszlo's whole household.

"Good, then we'll leave you to get ready." Sara grinned at him, leaning down to peck his cheek before letting herself out of the room.

"Do ask should you require any help, John. Your clothes are in the wardrobe." Laszlo inclined his head before following Sara, shutting the door lightly behind him.

Please, John didn't need help. He'd get dressed on his own - even if he would waste half of his energy to do so. At least now he did notice his injury; a bit more than he would have liked to.

Brushing the pain aside, John reached for his shirt -thankfully blood free-, and started the daunting task of buttoning it up.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY GUYS; Life has been hell and I didn't have time to proof-read this chapter. I only just did it so excuse any mistakes I skipped and feel free to point them out in the reviews.
> 
> Thank you for your feedback so far; it means a lot and your kind words really do help alleviate some of real life's stress and tension!
> 
> I sure hope you enjoyed this addition and stay tuned for the final chapter in this story!
> 
> Kudos,  
> Chrisii.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Big Brother Instinct.

"John, what are you doing here?" Laszlo greeted his friend with evident surprise and stepped aside for John to enter. However, John remained on the doorstep, his gaze firmly locked on his shoes and appearing uncharacteristically out of place - It was disconcerting until Laszlo noted the fine tremors that were coursing through John's frame; well hidden by his vest and blazer.

"Come in, let's talk in the sitting room." Laszlo inched towards his friend -aiming to drag him inside- but John flinched back from the contact, his eyes flashing towards Laszlo's hand for a moment. They were oddly shimmering, but maybe that was just a trick of the light. He was about to speak again when John shuffled into the house, his tension easily readable in the stiff posture of his shoulders and neck.

They found their place in the sitting area with uniform casualness and Mary set a tray with tea in front of them before hurrying out with a quick look of concern towards John - Laszlo didn't blame her, John was emanating an aura of tension and nervousness mixed with some kind of misery that was pitifully obvious to read.

Laszlo didn't push. John needed time and space and he was willing to give him as much as he needed. Patience had always been one of his greatest virtues, but it irked him to some extent to see John battle with his inner self whether or not he should confide in Laszlo.

The doctor part in him was offended.

The friend part in him was hurt.

Why had John come here? He had to let John speak for himself; knew that the slightest thing could provoke unexpected reactions – John was usually volatile when emotional, something that never changed.

"I never thought she'd be proud of me."

John's voice was as shocking as his uncharacteristically dishevelled appearance. The hoarseness suggested hours of crying, but Laszlo had already deciphered that from the swollen skin around John's eyes. John's tongue seemed heavy in his own mouth, barely able to form the syllables of the simple words. Simple, but so heavy in their appalling meaning that Laszlo was momentarily speechless.

"Why wouldn't she?"

His question was innocent enough, yet Laszlo knew that John would notice the inquisitive tone; the need to know more before passing a proper comment on the situation. John didn't appear to have registered the question; lost as he was in his own head as he sipped his tea. Its warmth seemed to offer a meagre amount of comfort. Laszlo frowned as John's breathing stuttered before the illustrator quickly got it under control again.

"I tried to draw her, you know. As she was before – Strong, maybe not virile, but with enough energy to get through the day. I couldn't picture her in any other way except for how weak she seemed at the end – it was like she was hovering in between here and there, unwilling to leave but knowing that deep down, she truly wanted to."

John didn't seem aware he was speaking. He clutched at the empty teacup, staring into its emptiness as if the china held all the answers he sought. Laszlo supposed that there were no answers – maybe there weren't even questions as there were doubts, regrets, musings on some alternate universe in which this event had not happened.

"How did it happen?"

Laszlo did his best to keep his voice gentle so he was surprised when John laughed – a cynical laugh that was cold in its mirthless sound.

"Do you have to be so clinical all the time? I knew it was a mistake to come here. I don't know what I was thinking."

Despite his tirade, John didn't even shift. Instead, he seemed to slump even further in the chair, his long frame folding in itself in an attempt to make himself smaller.

"You were thinking that you did not want any awkward condolences or people reminiscing about their own time with your grandma – You were thinking of some time alone, or maybe in my silent company. Whatever it is, you knew that you'd have some peace here." Laszlo shrugged, knowing for a fact that John had truly thought what he was pointing out, even if he was not aware of it.

"I'm sick of people saying they're sorry or that she was a great soul. She was the only one from my family to accept me as I am, I am just sorry that I couldn't make her proud of her nephew."

John's rage mellowed out as his voice broke once again. However, this time he didn't seem able to hold back his sob. Laszlo watched as John broke down; his grief finally demanding to be shown as the need to put up a mask for other people dissipated into nothingness.

"She was proud of you, John. She spoke of you as her treasure and nothing less; she only wished you the best life you could lead. She oft told me that she wished you dealt better with your vices, but that doesn't mean she wasn't proud of the man you've become."

Laszlo dropped to his knees in front of John, making sure that the man was hearing him. John seemed lost in his sorrow, blue eyes misted and evidently in some other time – someplace that Laszlo could not follow. Laszlo gently put his hand on John's bicep, holding it there until his friend registered the physical proximity and Laszlo himself before speaking.

"Weird as this may sound, this house also contains your family, John. Me, Mary, Sarah, we'll all be here for you. I'll make sure the funeral is arranged. Why don't you go get some rest?"

John seemed to waver, torn between believing that he was part of a family (more like a band of misfits), and realising that he was infinitely more tired than he thought. Laszlo saw the moment that the realisation kicked in as John swayed in his seat, hand reaching up to rub at his eyes in an adorably childlike manner.

"I've been with her since she suddenly weakened. I didn't want to leave her alone, not when she did so much with me." John huffed, a sound of both nostalgia and bitter memories, before he immediately sobered up. "I can't go back home, not when it's still swarming with priests and her friends. I can't face them right now, Laszlo. I just can't – Can I stay over here?" John shivered as panic welled up in his being and Laszlo immediately moved his hands so he could grip John's wrists and stop his friend from escaping to the outside world again.

"You're always welcome in this house, John. You have a set of sleeping clothes in the room you usually stay in. Do you want dinner?"

Laszlo moved backwards as John forced himself to regain his composure – as much as he could, anyway.

"No, thank you. I can't bear the thought of food at the moment. I'm just going to go rest. Thank you, Laszlo." John stood, staggering slightly before he found his footing and vainly straightened his clothing.

"You're very welcome, John. You know that should you require any help I'll be here for you." Laszlo smiled when John's mouth tipped in a shadow of his usual smirk.

He knew that John wouldn't magically be okay – grief had a way of changing a person. He had seen it when John mourned his brother all those years ago and had no doubt that he would see it again now. At least now there was Sarah as well. She could help; she was always better at the emotional things than Laszlo was.

At least maybe John wouldn't push everyone away again.

Somehow, Laszlo didn't think that would happen. However, for now he only had one concern; get John to bed. He made his way to the spare bedroom and was content to see John already beneath the covers and dead asleep, exhaustion having finally forced him into slumber.

It seemed peaceful, so far.

Laszlo tucked the blanket around his friend, making sure that John was fully covered before closing the door behind him.

He wouldn't let John deal with all the hassles that came with a death in the family – he had enough grief to deal with for now. With that thought, he picked up his telephone and dialled.

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so; This is the end of this series - 5 times John was forced to stay over at Laszlo's and one time he stayed willingly! It was quite a tragic end... woopsie. XD
> 
> Anyway, I sure hope you enjoyed this and feel free to leave your feedback below!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Alienist', nor am I making profit from this.
> 
> Much kudos and love,  
> Chrisii.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this has been sitting in my file for a long time, and I just decided to hell with it, I'll post it.
> 
> I'm a bit shaky on Laszlo's character to be honest, so if anyone has any help to offer on it, feel free to point it out - either via pm or reviews.
> 
> Feel free to point anything out actually, I live for your feedback guys, hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this installment - this is all written, so I just need to proof it. I shall try to update later this week, you'll have one by next Sunday for sure. Feel free to follow so as to get an email when I do post!
> 
> Anyway, next chapter will revolve around the prompt of 'nightmares', so stay tuned!
> 
> On another note, my next story might be a Kol!whump one on The Originals because that series is simply too good.
> 
> Kudos to you,  
> Chrisii.


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